The Right Sort
by Aryn Jean
Summary: Just then, a thought crept into Harry's head. About what could have been.


Harry returned to the great hall just as the commotion had died down. In his absence the celebrations had become more solemn, silent. It was oddly fitting. Though a great evil had been destroyed, it seemed wrong to celebrate a death - hypocritical, even. After all, Tom Riddle led a sad, corrupted life, and left the world in bits and pieces, never redeemed. Was any soul ever truly evil, through and through?

Ron and Hermione had disappeared, somewhere. Harry reckoned they had rejoined the rest of the Weasleys. Harry stopped, simply taking in the visuals around him, friends laughing, some mourning, some merely relaxing, relishing the fact that all was right in the world again. Only one group stood out to Harry in the crowd.

At the far end of - what was - the Slytherin table, Harry spotted three blonde heads. The scruffiest of them sat simply breathing to himself, seated with his back to the table. He looked like he was elsewhere, focused on some thought or realization. A few steps in front of him was his son, standing with his hands in his pockets, looking down at his father, while a blonde-haired woman looked on, arms crossed, looking at the boy with loving relief.

Lucius Malfoy, breaking from his trance, looked up to his son. Draco looked back. They seemed to contemplate each other for a moment, both tensing up with a very stern demeanor. Lucius clenched his jaw. Only a few seconds passed before Lucius shot to his feet, flinging his arms around his boy, his only son, his Draco, alive and practically untouched, and sobbed with uncontrollable tears of joy. Narcissa gazed at her two favorite men, half in astonishment, half in perpetual happiness and love. Draco hesitated, but soon returned the gesture, wrapping his arms around his father and closing his eyes.

Harry wagered that such a gesture didn't happen often, if at all, between these particular Malfoys.

When the tender moment ended, Lucius gave a long look to his son, took his wife's hand, and proceeded out of the great hall. Draco looked after them for a few minutes before sitting down and leaning against the table.

Harry didn't know what compelled him to do it. He strolled over to the end of the Slytherin table and took a seat next to the one Slytherin that gave him hell for nearly seven years straight.

Draco, however, did not move. He didn't even look up or flinch. He took one breath. "Potter," he said. The remark didn't bear nearly the same hatred as Harry had always heard in it - it was a greeting. An honest to God greeting.

"Malfoy," Harry returned.

Draco sighed again, looked at Harry once, and stuck out his hand. Harry didn't hesitate for more than a few seconds before reaching forward and taking it.

Draco snorted. "Thought you could 'tell the right sort' for yourself?"

Harry smiled, still firmly grasping Draco's outstretched hand. "Still can."

They both released, smiling to themselves, both feeling victorious. "Gave your dad a right scare, did you?"

Draco chuckled. "Lord knows the bloke needed it. That'll be the last time he signs me up for anything life-threateningly dangerous." He paused. "The only one who's ever really been a father to me is Snape."

Harry's jaw tensed. Snape. He was one of the only ones alive that knew. They may have only been kinda-sorta friends for a matter of minutes, but Harry knew he had to tell Malfoy.

"Malfoy…" Harry began. "Draco," He corrected himself. He tried to be gentle in forming his words. "Voldemort was having trouble with the Elder wand… It resisted him, and… He thought he needed to kill the one who killed its last owner…"

Draco was silent. His jaw tightened and his eyes seemed to sink. "He killed him, didn't he?"

Harry nodded slowly, averting his eyes from the tears beginning to form in Draco's. "But he was wrong," he said calmly. "It's not about killing. It's about disarming. Winning. You disarmed Dumbledore."

Draco's eyebrows furrowed as the realization set in. "You mean… It was… It was mine?"

Harry nodded.

"Blimey." Draco breathed with wide eyes.

Just then, a thought crept into Harry's head. About what could have been. About how, if one thing had been different, the blonde boy sitting next to him, wouldn't be. Somehow Harry felt as if the same thought had just occurred to Draco.

Draco reached up and quickly swept away the tears on his cheeks. "Well, I hate to admit it," he began, "But I've got to say... I've never been happier about not killing Albus Dumbledore."


End file.
